The Heart Will Go On
by CarmelPeti
Summary: Based off James Cameron's 'Titanic.' In an attempt to recover the elusive Heart of the Ocean from Titanic's wreckage, treasure hunter Matthias and his crew are faced with one of the most tragic stories ever recovered from Titanic's history: A romance between two men that was never meant to be, and how they save each other in every way a man can be saved. USUK Titanic Hetalia
1. The Search for The Heart of the Ocean

**Note:**This is my USUK Titanic fanfiction, based on the script by James Cameron. Titanic has been a movie of passion for me since it first came out, and is still my favorite movie. I love it to pieces. I'm also a huge Hetalia and USUK fan, and what more perfect for a fanfiction for them than Jack and Rose. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've written a few books, but this is my first fanfiction. I'm not quite used to the site yet so bare with me! That's all! **End**

**ooOoo**

The ocean is beautiful. That in itself is truth, as it holds a magical world thriving with life, in an untraversable expanse of area that strives to crush all those who don't belong; those in which who belong to the surface, not the cold, salty waters of the ocean. Although the crispness, the coolness of its waves excites a certain curiosity, it numbs those who aim to reach too far and touch. It's deadly, aching a human body upon contact. The destruction of its depths may not express the image of danger, but its dark deepness and feel holds less warmth than fire or lava. At least lava can take life quickly.

Yet somehow, the ocean is still beautiful, for an infinite amount of reasons. It tickles all our senses, and entices all our feelings. There's a certain love for what we can't have- what we're not supposed to have. The thrill of not knowing what could be, and developing enough to have a chance to maybe reach that desire practically suffocates all original logic. It's worth it. It's worth the struggle. It's worth the wait.

Amazingly enough, the ocean doesn't make a point to move as quickly as the surface. In the deep darkness, it locks all time away, never moving forward. Unlike us, the ocean excels at simply being, and accepting life as it is, and death as it comes. Such a haunting and impossible existence it carries in our world, of course it would excite the curiosity of many a man to find stillness on a planet that seemingly has none. There are riches held within those moments captured forever in time at the ocean's floor. One moment, however, calls to particular individuals, representing the past's wealth and legend. Only Titanic can only in her breast the Heart of the Ocean otherwise known as 'La Coeur De Le Mer;' a beautiful pendent made from a blue diamond said to belong to King Louis VXI himself before his beheading around the French Revolution. The blue diamond was then cut, and placed in a chain of silver and diamonds, making it one of the most beautiful, rare and expensive pieces of jewelry every crafted. However, Titanic took the pendent with her to the ocean's bottom in April of 1912, where it's laid at rest from man's mind and abilities for years. However, much like most mysteries, eventually its idea and memory creeps back into existence. Only man would want to approach the scene of a timeless death closed in a sunken ship in search of such a jewel.

In the pitch darkness, with nothing but water and pressure, light made itself known in the abyss. Cradling down, falling lightly as the water moved around them to cushion their weight, two Deep Sumbersibles drifted slowly to the ocean's floor. Their lights searching, striking through the dark nothing as the shadows proceeded to reform where they once were. The Sumbersibles made their descent for approximately two hours before the radars signaled solid surface and their checkpoint. Groggy, maybe a little submitted by the long and dark trip down, the men inside the machine are shaken awake by the downward thrusters safely landing their vehicle. The passengers inside are then jarred alert at loud thump of the vessel's final landing. The men smiled at one another, checking their equipment over briefly before one states in glee, "we're here."

Minutes pass as the two subs traverse along the bottom, the sub lights washing over the featureless sands and clay of the ocean's floor. A young, quiet Icelandic man known as Emil steadily drove the sub onward, his face peering into the dark through the window's centerpiece while another, Lukas, monitored the sidescan sonars, keeping a large object in display and direction on the screen.

Emil sighed, the dark expanse seemingly everlasting before them. "Do you see it yet? I do not see it…"

Lukas kept quiet for a moment, keeping a deadpan state on the radar before answering cooly, "Turn left. She is right in front of us…. Eighteen meters… fifteen… thirteen, you should see her by no-..."

"There!" Emil exclaimed, as the large bow of the sunken ship came into view, morphing from he pitch black like a ghostly apparition. It stood strong, not moving an inch or changing since the ocean swallowed it 84 years prior. Emil proceeded to carefully drive the sub over the railing of the bow, the long treaded rust reaching for the sub's bottom like seaweed.

Lukas grabbed a camera from a small compartment under his seat and fiddled with it for a moment. He flicked the buttons on, moving the camera's view over to the third man in the corner of the small Sumbersible. Matthias, the expedition captain. He was a fair skinned man with dirty blond hair, sweat filled from the anticipating trip down to Titanic and blue eyes vivid and young in continuous excitement. His work had paid off- he got this thrill every time he saw her; Titanic was within his reach. He ran a hand through his bangs, the sweat moistening his palms, and turned to Lukas and the camera with a deep sigh of relief. "It still gets me every time, y'know."

Lukas handed the camera over to Matthias and returned to his own job before Emil chimed in, "it is just the guilt from you stealing from the dead."

Matthias rolled his eyes with a smug smirk, somehow expecting nothing less from Emil. He held the camera up and looked out the small, circular sub window again at the sunken ghost ship as it closed in around them. "Thanks, Emil. Work with me here." He composed himself and continued, "it still gets me every time…. To see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15th, 1912," he paused, staring longingly at Titanic's beaten form before whispering in dramatic regard, ".… after her long fall from the living world above."

Emil rolled his eyes towards Lukas and mumbled something in Icelandic before Lukas ever so gingerly stated to their 'captain,' "you are so full of shit." Matthias laughed.

The subs drove along what seems like the endless deck of the wreckage. In comparison, the 22 foot long submarines looked like little insects scaling a building. Matthias took a deep breath, absorbing the constant mystery of it all. "This is our ninth dive. Here we are again on the deck of Titanic. Two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch; enough to crush us like a freight train going over an ant if our hull fails. These windows are nine inches thick and if they go, it's _farvel _in two microseconds." The sub finally landed on the boat deck next to the old officer's quarters. The other sub followed, landing on the roof the deck house nearby. This was their stop. Matthias stood and turned to Lukas and Emil with a wide grin and his hands on his hips. "Right, let's get to work, fellas!"

Lukas slipped on a pair of 3-D electronic goggles and grabs the joystick controls of their ROV (Remotely Operated underwater Vehicle). Outside the sub, their small ROV floated forward from its cradle under the hub, and began its journey inside Titanic's wreckage. It's stereo and video camera swiveled on its hood like the eyes of an insect as it proceeded to descend into the shaft that was once the glorious first-class staircase. It continued to descend several decks, relaying images back to the sub of ornate interior designs now old and drenched in ever forming rust that almost appeared as natural forming grotto. It grew over many things, consuming the familiarity of items we would find of lively comfort on the surface and turning them desolate and lonely. The ROV sent back images of old mirrors, disintegrated paintings, grand furniture…. Yet one image caused a slight stir in Lukas' stomach: he cringed at what appeared to be skull of a child, the dead yet concerned eyes somehow staring back at him, only to realize it was just a child's doll. It still filled him with a sense of discomfort, knowing that doll once belonged to a living girl. It was a play thing. A source of comfort. It couldn't have been much comfort as the water began rising...

He turned the ROV into a black doorway, the sitting room of _Promenade Suite_, one of the most luxurious suite rooms the Titanic had to offer. "I am in the sitting room now. I am heading to B-54."

"Stay off the floor, Lukas, Don't stir it up like you did yesterday," Matthias scolded, watching the ROV image carefully through a monitor. The robot delicately crossed the ruins of the magnificent suite to another room, where the remains of pillard canopy bed could be seen, along with some broken chairs and dresser. Examples of fine living. "Okay, I want to see what's under that wardrobe there." The ROV's mechanical arms moved to delicately clamp the wardrobe's mantle within it's grasp- only as softly as a robot could manage within its steel claws. There was a constant threat of crushing anything it picked up. "Easy, Lukas, take it slow…" The ROV gently began to tug the wooden frame away, as the oceans' sand and dust moved in an ever-warping cloud around the debris until it finally settled once more on the old floor.

Lukas stared in silence at the monitor, while Matthias' face grew vibrant like an excited child. Lukas finally murmured, to certify the situation, "are you seeing what I am seeing?"

Matthias' grin grew wider and he grabbed the sub's microphone, their one connection to the surface. He laughed out loud, staring at the image of the old combination safe on their monitor. With a well deserved cockiness, he said slyly to the men waiting above, "It's pay-day, boys."

Cheers and toasts could be heard amongst the crew back on the surface as they pulled the two Subersibles back on board with a winch cable, along with the combination safe, dripping wet against the afternoon sun onto the deck of their excavation ship. The Russian Research Vessel's crew gathered around expectantly, along with a research crew to document the safe's contents and a documentary crew Matthias hired for the momentous occasion. He wouldn't deny his moment glory being forever recorded for history! The Heart of the Ocean was within his grasp! Now, all that awaited was the grand 'opening.' "You rolling?" He asked the cameraman with a huge grin, his heart fluttering for joy in his chest.

"Rolling!"

Matthias nodded to the technicians who then immediately begin drilling safe's hinges. "Well here it is! The moment of truth! Here is where we find out if the money, the sweat, the time to charter this ship and these subs- to come out here to the middle of the Northern Atlantic…were worth it. If what we think is in that safe…," Matthias began sounding reluctant to get his hopes up, "…is in that safe…, will be." He grinned almost wolfishly in anticipation of his greatest find. The door is finally pried loose, clanging onto the deck. He moved closer to the safe, peering inside the safe's wet interior. There was a long moment… his expression immediately grew sour. "Shit."

Lukas joined him, staring at the safe's useless contents. "Matthias, this happened to Gupta and his career never recovered."

Matthias growled lightly under his breath. He turned to the cameraman and shoved his hand in the lens, "get that out of my face."

**ooOoo**

**Finishing Note:** To be continued in the next part!


	2. The Man in That Picture is Me

**N****ote**: So here is the second part. A friend of mine told me I should emphasize the fact the beginning of this story loosely supports FrUk, but this is ultimately USUK fanfiction. This story may or may not have other loosely implied pairings in the future.

**ooOoo**

The day progressed with difficulty, peppered with agitation by all the crew, but none more so than Matthias. After the reveal of the safe's contents, he had to battle with the hired team about money and expenses, this and that…. All fell on his shoulders, heavy like bags of flour where disappointment already settled itself in spite of his failure to recover the Heart of the Ocean where he was certain it had been locked away.

The team of technicians worked nearby, carefully extracting the muddy contents of the safe and separating the files into trays of water to keep them safe. Others worked in different areas of the storeroom to separate and clean other sunken treasures from the wreckage in awareness of Matthias' high level of frustration. Occasionally he would catch their glances, causing his chest to feel heavy like boiling water rising from the pit of his stomach, and the camera crew continued to barrage him with questions, demanding answers for their time and the expenses for the trip. Finally Matthias gave in, clenching his fingers and arm muscles tight in gesture of self control. "You send out what I tell you when I tell you. I'm going to sign all your paychecks, not that 60 Seconds shit. Now get set up for the uplink!" He demanded, running a stressed a hand through his bangs with a hefty sigh.

Nearby, a tall Swedish man was talking on the phone, as if trying to reassure the individual on the other end. His expression was rather unimpressed as he began holding the phone away from his ear and turned to Matthias. He then put his hand over the phone to mute the conversation. "… The partners want to know how we are doing."

Matthias gave a long groan and stormed towards his associate with a growl, "How's it going!? You know how it's going, Berwald, it's going like a friggen first date in prison, what'ya think to tell them?!" He grabbed the phone from Berwald's hand and instantly composed himself, becoming smooth and professional. "Hello there. Look, it wasn't…," he ground his teeth for a second, "…exactly in the safe, but! But, hey, don't worry, I got this. There's a ton other places it could be…. Y'know, like the floor debris in the suite, or in the father's room, or in the safe on C deck-…," he paused, slowly lowering the phone as something else caught his attention. He slowly moved to a nearby monitor, revealing grayscale displays of the safe's contents being cleaned to the rest of the ship and crew. "Hang on a second…," he muttered into the phone, setting it down a moment to get a better look at the work. The technician on screen proceeds to move a few slightly disintegrated envelopes to the opposite end of the small water tray, revealing a picture underneath.

It revealed a conte crayon sketch of a nude man. He was laying, relaxed and content with a casual modesty, his arms over his head, on what appeared to be the sketch of an antique couch with ornate designs resembling the structure of the broken pieces of furniture found in the room of the safe. The picture itself somehow survived the year of underwater decay, as all that was damaged were the chalky edges of the old paper. Matthias couldn't help but feel an artistic attraction to the drawing- or at least to whosever hands drew it. The model himself seemed to be drawn in high regard…, as the cross hatching was done in such a way that it almost seemed he was surrounded by a pool of light that radiated from his young eyes. As the technicians continued to clean, mud was washed from the bottom corner, where was scrawled messily, 'April 14, 1912. AJ.'

Something above all else stood out to Matthias, as he suddenly scrambles through a pile of papers on a nearby table for a reference. He gives the sketch a final look, observing closely the only accessory the model is wearing: a diamond necklace with one large stone hanging at its center, before turning back to the reference in his hands. A complex setting with a massive central stone which is nearly heart shaped. Matthias paused, taking in a deep breath. "Well I'll be damned."

It didn't take long for the news to pass over the world of the Keldysh Intercut ship and its crews' findings. Before the world knew it, CNN was on board to honor and interview Matthias' accomplishments and work in his field of expertise: sunken and lost treasures of ruin. The satellite feed carried from Europe to America, straight from their location in the Northern Atlantic. The reports fed into the homes of many, but little did Matthias know it, the research and news report would soon make the final change of one man's old life, and in turn effect the lives of all those around him.

This man was no other than Arthur Jones Kirkland; one of the last living survivors if Titanic's wreckage in 1912. He was living in a small, rustic home with a large garden and scenery of the salty ocean from his favorite window seat, to carry out the remaining years of his long life in peace. Classic for the home of an old New Englander in America, his shelves were lined with little bobbles and photographs of a million memories and moments past lived, and stories to forever retell to his children, and his children's children. None of his kin, however, were more entertained than Peter Kirkland, his grandson in his early forties, who made time daily to spend time with his grandfather, and to assist him with his daily living in his old age (which he was much grateful for). That day, Peter had been there to help take care of little odds-and-end chores that Arthur wasn't feeling well enough to do, including washing the laundry, watering the rose and herb gardens, and feeding the few animals Arthur had as consistent company.

Arthur, at the time, was finishing a piece of embroidery as a gift to his daughter for her coming birthday the next month. Often while he worked on his little hobbies, he'd leave the television on as noise, to keep himself awake and focused. It was a quiet, calm day on the northern Atlantic shores, and there was nothing to expect on the noon news other than the occasional few crimes and fires, or the exciting discoveries the world broadcast has to offer.

"This is a live CNN satellite feed from the deck of the Keldysh Intercut with the CNN studio," the announcer on the television began. "Danish treasure hunter, Matthias Kohler, is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using deep submergence technology to work two and a half miles at another famous wreck… the one and only Titanic herself. He is with us live now from a Russian research ship in the middle of the Atlantic. Hello, Matthias?"

The screen cuts to Matthias on his ship's deck surrounded by crew busily working, a microphone in his hand. "Yes, hej! Y'know, I wouldn't say Titanic is just a ship wreck. Titanic is THE shipwreck, she's the goldmine. I've planned this expedition for three whole years, and my crew and I are out here discovering some amazing things! Things that will have enormous historical and educational value."

Arthur perked up, turning his attention to the television. His body, although sunken and small with old age under his clothes, worked as if in perfect youth as he moved himself to a chair near the television. He sat down, leaning forward and watching the screen closely, his eyes as green and youthful as a man 70 years younger. No sooner did he move did Peter come over, curious to the sudden change in interest from his sharp focus on the embroidery. "What's wrong, grandpa?"

"Peter, will you turn that up for me?"

Peter paused, looking at the screen for a moment. "…Titanic." He quickly turned the volume up for his grandfather, and sat down in a stool next to him.

The CNN reporter continued on the screen, "but it's no secret education is not your main purpose, Mr. Kohler. You're a well known treasure hunter, so what treasure are you hunting? This expedition of your's is the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are even calling you a grave robber."

Matthias grinned, unaffected by the bold allegations. "Nobody called the artifacts from King Tut's tomb grave robbing. I have museum trained experts here with me, making sure this stuff is preserved and catalogued. Just look at this drawing we found only today," he begins, showing the cameraman to the monitor overlooking the cleaning and cataloging of the found artifacts, including the nude drawing, "a piece of paper that'd been underwater for a solid 84 years, and we were able to preserve it in one piece. Should this have remained trapped under the sea for eternity, where we can now bring it to the surface for the world to enjoy now?"

Arthur's jaw dropped, staring agape at the picture on the screen. He put a hand over his mouth, silent for a few moments in bewilderment as Peter stared on in confusion of his grandfather's shock. Finally, Arthur mumbled lightly, "…Bloody hell, I'll be God damned."

The interview was long over, the newscast unable to break Matthias' will for the world to mock and surge at. They were beginning to make another descent down to the wreckage, now more eager than any of their previous trips downward. It was within their grasp, and Matthias would become a legend: the discoverer of The Heart of the Ocean. He could feel the excitement bubbling up inside him that he could barely keep from laughing out loud in his confident glee. He began climbing into the sub again, following Emil and Lukas heartily when a small man raced up to him.

"Matthias, you have a satellite call!" He yelled in a rush, his English thick with a Finnish accent.

"Geez, Tino, we're launching! See these sumbsibles about to go in the water? Just take a message!"

Tino smiled wide, his body fluttering with a secret excitement. "No, Matthias, you'll want to take this call, just trust me!" He handed a slightly annoyed Matthias the phone, running the cable with it.

Matthias sighed, putting the phone to his ear. "_Hej_, Matthias Kohler here. What can I do for you?"

"Arthur Kirkland," returned the caller.

"…okay, Mr. Kirkland?"

"I was simply curious as to whether or not you had found The Heart of the Ocean yet, Mr. Kohler."

Matthias almost dropped the phone, looking up at Tino with shock. Tino grinned back and laughed at his captain's fumbling, "I knew you'd want to take this call, Matty."

Matthias cleared his throat and continued, "alright, Arthur. You've got my attention now. Can you tell me who the man in the drawing is?"

"Of course." Arthur smiled and leaned back in his chair as a chuckle escaped him, "that lad in the portrait is me."

Before anyone could question the decision, Matthias had the man being flown over the vast Atlantic with his grandson by a Sea Stallion Helicopter to their research ship, much to the dismay of many of his close crewmates. Lukas followed Matthias with distraught as they began lowering only one of the sumbsibles into the ocean this time. "Matt, he is a liar. It is Anastasia all over again."

Tino, on the other hand seemed thrilled to have the mysterious gentleman aboard their vessel. "Hey! Matty, they're already inbound! Quick flight that was!"

Matthias gave Tino a small nod and began towards the landing deck to greet his guests, still followed by a persistent Lukas. "Matt, he said his name is Arthur Kirkland. Arthur died on the Titanic, at the age of twenty three. If he lived, he'd be over a hundred years old."

"He is going to be a hundred and six next month," Matthias replied coyly.

"So he is an old liar. I did some research and traced him as far back as the 20's…. He was working as an actor in L.A. An actor, Matt. His name was recorded as Arthur Jones before he changed his named to Arthur Jones Kirkland. He got married to a woman and had two children. His wife is now _deceased_. There are a lot of reasons for someone to want to fake this out."

Matthias paused and watched as the elderly man and his grandson exited the loud helicopter. He yelled to Lukas over the blaring sound of the vehicle's blades, "and everybody who knew about the diamond is dead or on this ship. But that man knows about it, and I want to hear what he has to say. Got it, Lukas?" Lukas stayed silent in agitated defeat.

Arthur began unpacking immediately upon being shown to his small utilitarian room on the ship, where he'd be staying until he and his grandson were dismissed. Peter helped him place an assortment of photographs, general vintage images of some of his adventures, his children, and his late wife. Matthias stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the older gentleman for some time before softly asking, "is your stateroom okay?"

Arthur smiled, "marvelous. Have you met my grandson, Peter? He is a good lad, he takes care of me at home."

Peter smiled and rubbed a hand through Arthur's dusty gray locks. "Yes, grandpa, we met on the deck just a bit ago, remember?"

"Oh, that's right." Arthur frowned, straightening the pictures on his stand as a small, Scottish fold cat jumps up, purring under his hand. "I have to have my pictures when I travel, and my cat of course. He keeps me company, too."

Matthias smiles, amused by the man's general disposition. "Is there anything else you need, Arthur?"

Arthur paused a moment, old emerald eyes scanning the photographs once more before he turned around and murmured, "I should like to see my portrait, if you wouldn't mind."

Arthur and Peter were escorted to the sealing room, where some of the finished artifacts were being incubated and set for future preserving. Arthur stared at his drawing, as it sat in the tray of water, only kept preserved by being completely immersed as it had been for 84 years. Yet for something that had been forever drowning for years, in a dark vault at the bottom of the ocean, it seemed to sway and ripple in the tray as if somehow alive and breathing. Arthur held his forehead, confronting the emotions of April 14th, and took a step back. However, the emotions weren't negative…. He swore he could almost see the blue eyes of the artist as they studied him over the sketchbook's edge. Arthur smiled.

Matthias held a reference of the diamond necklace in his hand. "Louis the Sixteenth wore a great stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792. Theory has it the diamond was cut into a heart-like shape, and became 'Le Coeur de la Mer.' The Heart of the Ocean. It'd be worth more than the Hope Diamond today."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It was a bloody heavy thing." He pointed to the portrait, "I didn't wear jewelry, I just wore it this once."

Peter laughed, "you actually believe this is you, grandpa?"

Arthur seemed flabbergasted Peter would even question him. "This is me, Peter. I wasn't too bad looking back then was I?" Peter stared at the drawing. He wasn't sure what to believe- especially that his grandfather would ever lay down nude for someone to draw. He knew his grandfather had a secretive history of doing strange and impulsive things time to time during his youth, but he'd never thought he'd be witness to one of the outcomes.

Matthias grinned, holding out a piece of paper to Peter. "I tracked it down through insurance records… an old claim settled under terms of absolute secrecy."

"Someone named Bonnefoy, I'd imagine," Arthur chimed.

"Right," continued Matthias with joy, "Nathan Bonnefoy. For a diamond necklace his son Francis Bonnefoy bought in France for his _business partner_… you… a week before he sailed on Titanic. The claim was filed right after the sinking. So the diamond had to have gone down with the ship. See the date?"

Matthias handed the paper to Peter who read it quietly, "April 14th, 1912."

"So if your grandpa is who he says he is, he was wearing the diamond the day Titanic sank," he turned to Arthur, "and that makes you my new best friend. I will happily compensate for any information that would lead to its recovery."

"I don't want your money, Mr. Kohler. I understand first hand how difficult it for someone who greatly cares for money to give a bit away."

Matthias stared, skeptically. "You don't want anything?" It was a wild notion.

Arthur moved to stare down at the portrait again. His eyes grazed heavily over the scribbled initials 'AJ' in the bottom right corner. Something stirred inside him. "… If anything I tell you is of value, you may return to me my drawing."

"Deal." Matthias couldn't have asked for a better break. He could care less for that old scibble, it wasn't worth anything. Arthur and Peter were immediately directed to a table on the opposite end of the room. Matthias seemed to be beaming as he gestured to an assortment of antique artifacts drying on the tabletop, varying from mundane to incredibly valuable. "These are a couple of things recovered from your old stateroom on the Titanic."

With a trembling hand, Arthur reached for a tortoise shell hand mirror, inlaid with small pearls. He caressed it with wonder. "This is my old mirror. I'd carried it everywhere, tt was my late mother's, you know…," he smiled wide at Peter, "how absolutely extraordinary." He didn't think that he'd ever have the ability to see these things again. Tod hold them in his hand was like handling a fine gem- unsure if it would just collapse in your hands from your own ignorance to handle it correctly. He glanced at his reflection, green eyes flickering over the wrinkles of his face before he set it face down. He wasn't accustomed to seeing that face in the mirror. "My reflection has changed a tad bit since then…." His attention was then passed to an old violin face, broken apart from the ocean's wreckage. He picked it up gingerly, as it was obviously fragile without its mantle to hold it together. "This belonged to my father. He wanted to go back for it, he caused quite a fuss." Arthur paused, a rush of emotions taking him over. His hands trembled ever so slightly more as he averted his gaze downward.

Matthias approached Arthur and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Ready to return to Titanic?"

Arthur and Peter were finally escorted to the imaging room. A darkened room lined with TV monitors. Images of the wreckage from the single sub down below and the ROV filled the screens. Arthur stared raptly at all the different images, enthralled by one in particular. A moving image of the ship's bow railing. His green eyes widened in mesmerization. Matthias watched the change, curious, noting everything that Arthur said or did in case he needed it. What could be so special about a railing?

Tino was quick to join in, his young, energetic self excited to be a part of Arthur's rediscovery of Titanic. "This is all live from 12,000 feet below. The bow there is stuck in the bottom like an axe from the heavy impact. oh oh, I can run a simulation for you!"

Matthias growled lightly, "Arthur might not want to see this, Tino."

"No no, it is fine. I am highly curious," Arthur broke in, staring intently at Tino's simulation monitor while Peter found him a seat. Tino begins the computer animated graphics of the ship's wreckage. His narration went smoothly over Arthur's head, however, as his eyes flicked over the computer animated images of the tragedy moving in sped motion. He could feel his heart galloping in his chest as the media displayed from the ship's break in two to its heavy decent to ocean's floor, cringing as it crashed into a pathetic mass on the screen. Everything was so fast…. "People these days never slow down for anything. I don't quite remember the experience being quite so clinical, but I credit your … 'forensic analysis.'"

"Will you share it with us?" Matthias questioned.

Arthur stood up on shaky legs, nerve struck from the presentation. He slowly moved to the monitors on the opposite wall, still displaying images the ROV was taking from the wreckage. However, he could see things others couldn't. He always had been able to…. Every image was something distinctly different to him. He could hear ghostly waltz music tuning in his old ears. The faint echoing of an officer's voice calling in the chaotic distance of screaming and crying, 'women and children only.' Screaming faces and kneeling bodies praying to the dark heavens above flashed before his eyes… impressions. Memories lost and found in the dark. A child, maybe three years old… standing knee deep in water in the middle of an endless corridor. Alone… lost… crying. Shaken by the flood if images and memories, his eyes well up with tears, and his puts his head down quietly sobbing.

Peter immediately found himself at his grandfather's side, holding his shoulders in protectiveness of his loved one. "I'm taking him to his room, this is enough for today."

"No!" Arthur shouted, throwing his weak arms downward in emotion. Peter stood in shock for a moment, unfamiliar with this side of Arthur- this sense of desperation.

Matthias' eyes softened, along with those of the crew who watched the emotional display. "…Tell us, Arthur. Tell us what happened."

Arthur remained quiet for another few moments, watching the monitors like a zoning child. His green eyes continued to flick over the scenery the monitors displayed from the ROV deep below. All things lost, disheveled, yet so familiar and alive in his mind and in his heart. The rust draping from the railings couldn't seem to overwhelm the image of those railing glimmering new against the sun, and all the memories associated. His heart felt heavy, as did it strain his emotions in a sense of anguish. "…it has been 84 years…," he whispered in reply.

"Just tell us what you can."

Arthur turned around suddenly, somehow smiling under the red of his wet, emerald eyes. The expression, the contortion of battling emotions displayed on his face stirred even Matthias. "I am trying to but you need to be quiet to listen, don't you?" Arthur sighed and sat down, taking in a deep breath and scanning the faces of all those in the room. They were all so young, so unknowing. There was a story there, trapped in his aching heart as he fulfilled his life as promised- somehow he knew today would be when the walls were breached, and he finally let the secrets go down with the ship. "…It has been 84 years, and I can still smell the fresh paint." He bit his lip, looking down, as if visualizing in perfect detail the things he knew. "The china has never been used. The sheets had never been slept in." Matthias reached over and switched on a minirecorder, placing it on the table next to him, and made himself comfortable in a chair near Arthur as he continued. "Titanic was called the ship of dreams… and it was... It really was."

* * *

**Alright, **so that's done with. The prologue is out of the way, now we'll get into what you're all actually waiting for. Thanks for reading, stay tuned.


	3. Titanic Takes to the Ocean!

The Southampton dock was alive and busy, as men, women and children alike gathered in line and in spectacle. They were crowded shoulder to shoulder, blackening out the entirety of the pier, to awe at the leviathan docked beside them. Titanic gleamed white, rising tall into the sky, its buff-colored funnels standing out against the sky like pillars, and it size dwarfing the people beneath in its glorious shadow.  
Horse drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries moved slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere of the pier was engulfed in excitement and giddiness, with streaming lines of people to board the ship, jostling with hustling seaman and stokers, porters, and shouting White Star Line officials managing to keep the chaos appropriately organized. Individuals embraced each other in tearful farewells, or waved and shouted their bon voyages to friends and relatives from Titanic's decks above.

Southampton, England, April 10, 1912. It was almost noon on ailing day when an ivory white Renault leading a silver-gray Daimler-Benz, pushed through the crowd leaving a wake in the press of people. It finally stopped amidst the commotion, where the liveried driver scurried to open the door for a young man dressed in a stunning burgundy dress suit and a deep purple, cutaway frock coat. His was well put together, with golden colored fist cuffs on his steamed white undershirt, and well adjusted bowler hat that sat daintily atop his head. It was more of a 'dandy' sense of dress in comparison to most men his age and level of wealth. However, the messily cut, faint, golden locks that ruffled from under his hat gave him a sort of boyish charm, that somehow made the sense of style highly attractive on his person, especially in aid with the burgundy color against the piercing green of his youthful eyes. Arthur Kirkland, age 23, stared up at the ship as he moved from the vehicle, absorbing its structure with reserved appraisal, "I still don't see what the fuss is about. It doesn't appear any larger than the Mauretania."

"Je ne pense pas que tu," spoke a man in French from the other side of the Renault, "you can be blasé about some things, Arthur, but not about Titanic." A personal valet opened the door on the other side of the car, where a slightly taller man exited to accompany Arthur's side. He, in comparison to Arthur, was dressed a bit more formally, yet of a brighter fashion. Like Arthur, he sported a dress suit, but of a lavish, cotton blue. From his shoulders fell a solid black, double-breasted sack coat that squared around his knees, and to accompany it was a black top hat that he proceeded to place over his waving, shoulder length, blond hair as he approached Arthur. The deep blue of his handsome eyes met the green of his business partner, as he continued in earnest, "it is over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian café…, even Turkish baths." Francis Bonnefoy was a fair man, charming, passionate, with more wealth to the Bonnefoy name than any man would ever need, and a wittier tongue than man should ever be blessed. With it, he was striking quite a deal, using Arthur as a means to wring up a large offer in the states.

Behind them parked a touring car, where a slightly older gentleman in his 50s was escorted out. He was a tall, serious faced man, with smoothed brown hair folded back with a sophisticated elegance, that made a rule to always wear a royal blue, cutaway frock coat over the linen lace he decorated himself to appease that vintage dress he so adored. Roderich Edelstien, a man well known said to have hailed from the deep reaches of Austria, was accompanying Arthur upon his voyage to the Americas, and supervising the business proposition being offered to the young, English boy. Until the business was completed, Austria guided Arthur with an iron will, as he had done since Arthur was a lowly orphan abandoned at Roderich's feet only 18 years prior. Acting as a sort of a caregiver, and with an interest in what the business partnership had to offer, he had every intention of hovering over all of his illegal 'son's' movements until he was secured a good chunk of the inevitable wealth.

Francis welcomed Roderich forward to them, as if they were old friends. "Ah, Roderich, your son is much too difficult to impress!" The Frenchman laughed, nudging at Arthur's shoulder who in turn stood unimpressed.

Roderich tapped the back of Arthur's head, minding his briskly of his position and manners towards Francis before turning himself to admire Titanic's beauty. "So this is the ship they say in unsinkable."

"It is unsinkable!" Francis exclaimed. "God himself could not sink this ship!"

The entire entourage of the three men was impeccably tuned out, a perfect example of the Edwardian upper class, complete with servants just for their personal affairs. Francis' personal valet, Ivan Braginski, was a tall and impassive Russian man, with the dour of an undertaker. Ivan had been serving Francis personally for eight years, as a friend and as a indirect promise of high payment and early retirement. Together they worked with a discreet yet impersonal commitment towards one another, more as high payment to a loyal bodyguard than that of the average valet. His body was strong and lean, with platinum blond hair and blue eyes that tinted almost a netherworld purple, making him quite the intimidating figure should Francis ever need it. Accompanying Ivan were two personal maids to Arthur. One was a young, exotic woman from Belarus named Natalia Arlovskaya, hired by Arthur directly for her daunting demeanor and uncanny physical abilities considering her frail and beautiful physique. The other was a Ukrainian woman known as Katyusha Braginskaya, down in her luck and fortune, that was an impeccable maid in herself. She was hired by Francis for Arthur, by what they say is because of her cheap labor and ability to work diligently, but Arthur was convinced it was a particular choice made on the woman's large chest size and ditzy state of mind- not that Arthur minded the view while she went about her daily routines. Although the prospect of how many times the Frenchman had seduced the poor Ukrainian under the cover of 'hired help' put a bit of a knot in his stomach.

A White Star Line porter rushed over to Francis, harried by last minute loading. "Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way-…," but he was disrupted by Francis nonchalantly lacing a fiver in his hurried hands. The porter's eyes dilated in shock of the monstrous tip.

"I put my faith in you, mon ami," Francis cooed to the porter, then gesturing to Ivan, "see my friend here for further instruction on where things should be." Francis breezed on, leaving the unwashed masses to scrabble over the possibility of another high tip. The sound of the porter whistling over other cargo lifters to help carry the large amount of luggage in a hurry played as music to his ears. He quickly checked his pocket watch. "We'd better hurry. This way, messieurs!"

Francis led onward, weaving between vehicles and handcarts, hurrying second-class passengers and well-wishers. Most of the first class passengers were making a point to avoid the press of the dockside crowd by using an elevated boarding passage bridge, twenty feet above. They passed a line of steerage passengers in their tweeds, queued up inside by movable barriers like cattle being transported through a chute, and past a horse-drawn wagon filled with two tons of specially manufactured Oxford Marmalade in wooden cases, finally moving to the first class upper bridge. It was quite the ruckus.

In agitation of the ordeal, Roderich rubbed his tired temples and grumbled to the Frenchman irritably, "honestly, Francis. If you weren't booking everything at the last instant, we could have gone through the terminal rather than running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family." Arthur rolled his eyes at Roderich's 'good humor.'

"Ah, it's all part of my charm, Roderich! At any rate, it was your Arthur's indecisive 'beauty' rituals which made us late. Such a fop!" Francis teased, causing the youngest man to flush red in abashed irritation.

"You were the one who told me to change,_ fop_!"

"Well I most certainly couldn't let you were black on sailing day, mon ami! It's bad luck you know."

"I felt like black."

"oh come now," Francis began, allowing Roderich to begin up the bridge without them as he pushed Arthur's messy bangs from his eyes at the base of the bridge. "Can't you act a little happy? Here I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in one of her most luxurious suites…, and you act as if you're marching to your execution. Now come on." He tugged on Arthur's arm gently, causing the Englishman to stir where he stood and march up the bridge on his own accord, Francis tailing close behind with a sigh of defeat.

Arthur's eyes wandered up the length of the bridge. At the end, a health officer examined their heads one by one as they boarded the ship, checking their scalps and eyelashes for lice and/or infection. A whole mess of people were giddy inside, excited to start the grand adventure. Arthur couldn't help but think this was the ship of dreams… to everyone else. To him, it was a slave ship, taking him to America in chains. As the dark doors swallowed him and Francis, after his little, intrusive health inspection was done and over with, he couldn't help but cling to Francis' sleeve between his fingers, unsure of himself, even in his shame for being so. Francis didn't ignore the subtle plea for help among the many men and women crowded around them as they were guided to their rooms, and gingerly even offered a strong, secretive hand for the Englishman to cling to until they could have peace of privacy. Generally, Arthur was everything a well brought-up man should be; composed, confident, with a dashing smile and courtesy, and knowledge of wealth and politics. However, on the inside, he was screaming.

Titanic towered over Southampton like a skyscraper, well seen from the small thrift stores and pubs built in the city and on the dock. It's last call steamer whistles echoed across the town, reaching each and every ear so that nobody could miss the experience of Titanic's presence amongst them. It carried into a pub, smoky and crowded with dockworkers and ships crew- it was where all the 'tough' working men went for a drink within the day of their hardy labor lives. An environment for drinking, arm wrestling, the occasional drunken squabble, and the quick gambling games; one such game was being played at the time- a round of poker that would change the fates of the four men involved, for better or for worse.

Alfred Jones and Lovino Vargas, both about 20 years of age, exchanged a glance as the other two men argued with each other. Lovino was a small, southern Italian man, with a slightly darker complexion and gingerbread colored hair that fell smoothly around his face and over his brow. He waited impatiently as the other two players argued. Ever the easily flustered type, his patience was naturally thin and his mouth could shoot off an insult and command so quickly that he himself could barely catch it before it flew away. He was sticking to Alfred for the time being, as a friend with housing benefits after Alfred saved his life from accidentally drowning in the harbor about three months prior (as Lovino was notorious for his clumsiness). Although Alfred could cause him grief, he owed the other that much.

Alfred, on the other hand, was very pleased with their friendship, much like how he was with most people regardless. Alfred was a lanky drifter, with golden, messy hair and sky blue eyes. He was a handsome, broad and lean, young man. Very self possessed and sure footed for 20, he was charismatic and almost always sported a good natured smile. He was a natural artist, able to keep himself clean and fed off the Bohemian style of art he picked up from his few years living in Paris- but he was also no upperclassmen. Like Lovino, he relied on suspenders to keep his trousers up and an Irish cap to cover the greasy locks on his head. Wrinkled clothes worn to live in by day and sleep in by night weren't uncommon in his crowd of people though, and with a little luck, he'd at least win some cash from this game of poker to clean up-… or even better, the two Titanic tickets laying helpless in the winnings. He couldn't help but bite his lower lip to keep from chuckling at the squabbling of the other two players.

"I can't believe you bet our tickets!" One began, flabbergasted.

"You're the one who lost our money, dumbass! I'm just trying to get it back, now shut up and take a card!" The other replied.

"Come on, hit me up again." Alfred leaned over the table to take another card and add it to his hand. His eyes shifted between the three other players, his poker face betraying nothing.

Lovino, on the other hand appeared quite nervous, and refused another card.

The Titanic's whistle blew again. It was the final warning. Alfred sighed, "well, it's the moment of truth, boys. Somebody's life is about the change. Let's see what you've got."

The three other men put their cards down on the table. Lovino looked terribly distressed. "I've got nothing, bastard," he grumbled to Alfred.

Alfred continued to look around the circle dealt. "Ah, Lovino, you've got _niente_ I see. Oooh, Olaf's also got _squat_." He paused, lowering his eyes at the last hand. "Sven…," Sven smiled triumphantly. From Alfred's reaction, it looked like things were going his way. "…uh oh… two pair. Mmm…," Alfred sighed. "Sorry, Lovino."

Lovino shot forward in his seat. "What sorry!? You lost my money?! Ma va fa'n culo testa di cazzo-"

"Sorry, sorry, Lovino!" Alfred began, hushing the Italian man and leaning in close, gently placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're not going to see your mama again for a long time…." Lovino froze and Alfred grinned. "'Cause we're going to America, my friend! _FULL HOUSE__**!**_" He slammed his cards down on the table.

Lovino jumped up, his heart racing. "_Porca Modonna_! Yeeeeah!" The table exploded into shouting of several languages while Alfred began raking the winnings into his hat. "We're going to-,"

"L'America," chimed one of the losing party, as he balled up a strong fist, aiming it at Alfred as the blond boy winced, ready to take the hit. However, he swings the fist around and clobbers his partner clean in the jaw, knocking him to the floor.

Alfred and Lovino began laughing in hysterics at the scene, continuing to dance around and kiss the lucky tickets. Lovino even jumped onto the strong Alfred's back as they cheered around the pub, as if they won the lottery. "We're goin' home! To the land o' the free and the home of the real hamburgers! On the Titanic! We're ridin' in high style now!"

Lovino laughed, hugging the back of Alfred's neck. "We're practically god damned royalty, ragazzo mio! You see? It's my destinio! Like I told you, to go to l'America and be a millionaire!" Lovino jumped off Alfred's back and hailed his hand in the air, waving to the pub owner. "Capito! I'm going to America!"

"No son," he replied, pointing at a clock on the wall behind him. "Titanic goes to America. In five minutes."

The two boys froze for a moment in realization before rapidly scurrying to grab their belongings. "Shit, shit!" Alfred growled, "grab your stuff, Lovino, come on!" They raked the rest of their belongings into Alfred's side satchel and scrambled out the door cheering, "It's been grand! Nice knowing you!"

The pub owner scoffed. "'Course I'm sure if they knew it was you lot coming, they'd be pleased to wait!"

Alfred and Lovino, carrying everything they own in bags on their backs, sprinted across the pier. They tore through milling crowds and crowds of sailors next to the terminal. Shouts cry out behind them as they jostle through slow-moving men and women, and dodge piles of luggage by weaving around and leaping over it. Suddenly, Alfred came to a full stop at Titanic's base…. He stared up at the cast wall of the ship's hull, towering seven stories about the wharf and over and eighth of a mile long. It was monstrous in his eyes. He didn't have much time to be distracted though, as Lovino ran back to grab his hand and drag him back into full sprint for the third class entrance at the E deck. They reached just as an officer began detaching the ramp from above and started to swing down from the gangway doors.

Alfred began in full lunge, practically throwing himself against the officer. "Wait, we're passengers!" He exclaimed, sweaty and out of breath from his run, and holding his tickets in the officer's face. Lovino quickly joined in behind.

The officer eyed them both. "Have you passed the inspection queue?"

"Of course!" Alfred began, "we don't have lice or anything! We're Americans." He paused, glancing at Lovino over his shoulder, then back to the officer. "Both of us."

The officer eyes them testily and hails them aboard, taking their tickets and reviewing them suspiciously. He gives them to the ticket keeper who began writing their names down in a small notebook for the passenger's list. "Gundersan and…"

"Gundersan," Alfred smiled. The officer handed the tickets back, questioning Lovino's Italian appearance in comparison to the blue eyed blond of Alfred's. However, before he can really call it enough into question to care, the two young men were off, racing down the passage to their victory, grinning ear to ear. "We're the luckiest sons of bitches in the world!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing Lovino's hand and leading him to the surface deck as Titanic's engines began under their feet. They busted through the door, back into the sunlight and up to the rail where Alfred began yelling to the docks below, "goodbye! Goodbye, I'll miss you!"

Lovino eyed him curiously, punching him gently on the arm as he climbed on the railing next to him. "We don't know anybody here!"

"Of course not, but that's not the point!" Alfred replied with a huge smiled, carrying on. "So long, farewell, everyone!"

Grinning and in good cheer, Lovino joined in, adding his own words to the swell of voices, feeling the exhilaration of the moment. "Farewell! I'll never forget you!"

The crowd of well-wishers waved heartily as the black wall of the Titanic moved past them. Impossibly tiny figures waved back from the ship's rails as Titanic gained speed. The bow waves spread before its mighty plow of the liner's hull as it moved down the River Test toward the English channel.

* * *

**Note**: I start writing this thinking, "oh, I'll only do this part for now, it separates well. I hope it'll be enough." And then it ends up being _MORE_ than enough. Welp, there, we've got a taste of little mister Alfred Jones. I'm way too excited to begin the next part. Thanks for reading, and your kind reviews have been more than inspirational. Thank yoou. Stay tuned!


	4. If You Jump, I Jump

Much to Francis' abilities, him, Roderiche and Arthur were naturally residing in the "Millionaire Suite." It was a lavish, Empire styled suite with two bedrooms, a bath, a wardrobe room, and a large sitting room for casual visiting. In addition, the three had access to a 50 foot private deck outside their own quarters, as one of Titanic's many extra accessories granted to those willing to pay its extra miles with their immense wealth. Francis had what he needed to impress, and impressing those around him on this voyage to America was just what he intended to do. He needed to keep Arthur within his grasp and under control….

Francis watched the small Englishman as he sipped at a tulip glass of Bucks Fizz champagne. He seemed to make a habit of finding comfort in alcoholic beverages, but Francis was completely stumped as to why Arthur would need any 'comfort.' He approached the other, looking over the new paintings he'd purchased for Arthur as they were pulled from their casings by Natalia and Katyusha, and respectively placed in various places around their suite. Arthur seemed hypnotized by the images…. Abstract collections, like a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of dancers, and a few more colorfully confusing pieces most likely painted just in time for the revolution of modern art- forever remaining nameless for confidentiality in certain areas of Europe due the uprising against modern art and artists in the Eastern countries. However, that in itself seemed to fascinate Arthur…, a nameless work of art and painted feelings that he could somehow keep and enjoy provided him a sense of wonder that he cherished.

Francis, on the other hand, although a lover of art, couldn't understand Arthur's appeal to some of the more abstract. "I'm not entirely positive why these interest you so much."

"They're simply fascinating…," Arthur began, staring at a piece already placed over the sitting table in the corner. "It's like being in a dream, really. There's a truth there, without logic…. It's like the artist found a place to be free."

Francis frowned at these words, reading into Arthur's subtext. He sighed, and ran a hand through his long hair, feeling it between his fingers as the image of stress. He didn't intend to bother Arthur if he didn't want to be bothered- not now. He thought he'd give the man some space, and maybe that would help him be a bit more social, but something in the back of his mind was telling him this was turning into a lost cause. It was clear Arthur didn't want to go through with the plans anymore…, it was becoming more of an obligation than an act of free will.

He put it out his mind, and proceeded to assist Ivan and a few other workers with his safe that was being pushed into the room on a hand truck. "Put that in the wardrobe," he instructed, insisting the safe go with him on any escapade, in assurance of his financial security. There was never a threat of his treasures or money being discovered if the safe was with him…. Arthur saw it as nothing more than a security blanket Francis needed for his secrets more than his wealth.

Arthur watched it be placed from the corner of his eye and his expression dropped in disdain. "Do you insist on having that with you everywhere?

"I insist!" Francis replied from the wardrobe.

Arthur sighed, putting his glass down to assist Katyusha with one of the heavier paintings as she toddled with it, practically balancing it on her breasts. He grabbed the edges and helped her set it on his dresser in the bedroom, where he could admire in at rest. "Ahh~, thank you, Mr. Kirkland!" Katyusha smiled with a bounce in her step. "But you really didn't have to help, I am a strong woman, I could have done it, yes I could."

"Nonsense," Arthur smiled. "You're still a woman, a man should always assist you if you need it. Just don't tell Francis."

"Oooh, well my lips are sealed, Mr. Kirkland!"

"That's my girl." Arthur gave her a bit of a pet on the head, as she was an easy woman to approach, and didn't take any personal offense to be touched casually by a man in Ukrainian custom. Besides, to Arthur, she had more appeal as a cat or an excited bunny than a young lady…. Her entire charisma was so naïve and energetic and carefree, although she had a tendency to become upset and cry easily, almost like an innocent child.

He almost felt jealous.

Titanic seemed to roll endlessly over the ocean waves, smoothly under the feet of all those on board like it was simply gliding over the intense, rumbling ocean beneath. Arthur seemed the most aware of it- the absolute glory of the notion of a metal beast that could be ridden over an entire ocean, to different continents. Perhaps he wasn't so unimpressed with Titanic as he was just focused on something else, something more meaningful. He could make a point to recognize the miracle it was to travel in his time of life, and that was by far more impressive than any ship's size and grandeur of luxury…. He didn't care about luxury.

In looking around at the faces of the lunch table the next day, he couldn't help but feel like some sort of alien amongst humans. These people, they did care about luxury after all. His green eyes thoughtfully scanned the dull expressions of his 'father,' Roderiche…, and the ever contentment of Francis seated at his side. Everyone laughed in good cheer and giddiness, but he couldn't bring himself to smile or care about anything that spilled from their lips, or anything that went in them. Even the food seemed so extravagantly spoiled, and he merely stirred his lunch around on his plate to avoid eating it…..

"She is the largest moving object made by man in all of history!" Exclaimed a new face at the far end of the table. His voice was loud and piercing, borderline arrogant in tone. It didn't seem to matter, though, he was handsome and wealthy enough to get away with murder if he so chose. An albino man…, with rumored pink eyes and platinum hair, but you wouldn't know from looking at him, as he seemed to always have a brown wig and eye lens to keep the shame of his born curse hidden. Yet now and then, if you looked close enough, you could see a strand of white here and there, poking from under the brown of his guise…. Arthur couldn't help but think maybe he felt like he had to talk so loudly because he was trying to distract the inevitable truth of his appearance. His name was Gilbert Beilschmidt, a well known businessman who served as chairman and managing director White Star Line of steamships. Roderiche had once told Arthur that Gilbert wasn't ever afraid to put his money where his mouth was…. There may have been a bit of tension between the two men. Gilbert continued, "and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Honda here, designed her from the keel plates and up!"

Gilbert gestured to a small Japanese man seated to his right, Kiku Honda, of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilders. It was said he did his work in Ireland, his talent calling for more space and supplies than what the oriental countries could seem to offer. "Well," Kiku began, "I may have pieced her together, but the idea was Mr. Beilschmidt's. He proposed the plans to me, of a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is," Kiku smiled, looking up into the sunlight that dripped down onto the table from the high arched windows, "willed into reality."

"Why are ships always being called 'she?' Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?" Everyone began laughing at the comment, delivered with adorable tact from a young, Hungarian woman named Elizabeta Hedervary. She was a somewhat well received member of the 'rich snob' club, if Arthur remembered correctly. Her family had simply struck gold somewhere out west, and she was what Roderiche liked to called 'new money.' In truth, she struck a fancy in Arthur, as she was a tough cracking, tom-boy from Hungary with no fear and a will made of steel. She dressed well in the finery of genteel peers, but she knew she'd never be one of them, nor did she have any real strong desire to be. Yet she knew Roderiche through some sort of business claim, nothing Arthur could remember in perfect detail…, but Arthur had taken a strong liking to her ever sense, and although Roderiche acted distant towards her in company, it was clear under the wing of family he held some dear soft spot for Elizabeta. Arthur didn't mind this…, it was proof that money couldn't stain the entire heart of man.

Arthur didn't feel well. He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it, closing his eyes and inhaling deep. Roderiche glowered at his son.  
"Arthur, you know I don't like that."

Arthur glared back, remaining silent. He had few pleasures, smoking was something he enjoyed…. Much to his dismay, Francis proceeded to take the cigarette away and snub it out on one of the dinner plates, sensing the tension between son and parent. "He knows," Francis mumbled.

Arthur took a deep breathe, looking back down at his uneaten lunch without another word. The dark bags under his eyes told their own tale of stress, tiredness and frustration…, and it didn't seem to help the moods of Roderiche, and especially not Francis who seemed to be suppressing concern. Elizabeta couldn't help but notice this, as she watched the three men from across the table. "Uh.. Ah! Gilbert," she began, "were you the one who came up with the name 'Titanic?'

Gilbert laughed loud, "of course! I wanted to convey her sheer size, and size means stability, luxury, and stability-"

"Do you know of Dr. Frued?" Arthur suddenly asked Gilbert. It dropped the entire lunch table in a dead silence, as they were the first words Arthur spoke in the entire meal. They all watched him, and Roderich's brow raised in a slight horror. There was an impish gleam in Arthur's green eyes- a sudden spark of health and thought. It was never a good thing. Arthur continued, "his ideas about the male's preoccupation with size might be of a particular interest to you, Mr. Beilschmidt."

Elizabeta almost chocked on a breadstick, trying to suppress her laughter, and Francis seemed to be hiding an amused glint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. Roderiche quickly flicked Arthur's ear in an embarrassed and flustered sort of fury from his son. "My God, Arthur, what has gotten into-…"

"Excuse me," Arthur interrupted, brushing Roderiche's hands away and dismissing himself to the decks outside.

The table remained quiet for a few moments after Arthur's grand retreat, and Roderiche quickly fumbled an 'I'm sorry,' to Gilbert, who dismissed it with a good natured grin and wave of his hand. "He's got quite the bite to him, that one."

"He's always been a pistol," Elizabeta smiled, taking a sip of her beverage and looking to Francis. "I wonder if he'll calm down a bit once he gets to America."

"Speaking of which," Kiku added, staring rather seriously at Roderiche, "it may be none of my business, but.., I want to know. How is Arthur's health faring?"

Roderiche remained quiet, his eyes dropping and staring blankly at random things on the table. Francis seemed to be just as bothered by the question, but he didn't want Roderiche's silence to give any worse case scenario…, there was still hope. "When we get to America, the doctors there will treat him. He'll be good as new." Francis left it at that, taking another sip of his red wine as the group finished their lunch.

The decks were clean and fruitful, with a bright sun and blue sky and nothing but salty and fresh ocean air all around. It was there Alfred was resting in the sun on a small bench, Titanic's wake spread out behind him in the horizon. He had his knees pulled up, supporting a leather bound sketching pad- his only valuable possession. With a conte crayon, he was drawing rapidly with sure strokes and immigrant from Switzerland known as Vash Zwingli, and Vash's little sister Lili as they stood on the lower ring of the railing, watching the seagulls.  
Alfred's strokes didn't seem to miss a beat, as he sketched them with a sense of earnest perfectionism, and a great sense of the humanity of the moment. He was good at what he did…. Even Lovino watched Alfred draw over his shoulder with great appreciation for what the American could seem to capture with nothing but a conte crayon and a sketch pad.

Nearby, a crewmember came out to walk his dogs… a black poodle and a grunting English bull dog that seemed to snarl at anyone that was within six feet of his presence, including a Spanish immigrant man who had to move from his relaxed seat against a railing to not bother the testy canine. He wandered over to where Lovino and Alfred were and rubbed his eyes, watching the dogs with a bit of animosity. "That seems too typical. A first class dog coming down to our decks to take a shit…."

Alfred looked up from his sketchpad. "That's just so we know where we rank in the grand scheme of things."

"How can we forget?" Lovino grumbled, glaring at the dogs.

The immigrant chuckled, reaching a hand over to shake Lovino's. "Hola, I'm Antonio."

Lovino was skeptical for a moment, but eventually shook Antonio's hand. "Lovino."

It was only in that brief moment of distraction, however, did Alfred notice the man at the aft railing of the B deck promenade. Arthur was all alone, leaning over the railing with a disheveled sort of posture so unlike a man of that status to carry. He was dressed well enough, a white dress shirt and velvet red vest… clean slacks and ebony black, knotted dress shoes. Yet he didn't hold himself with the air of a noble or pride, he stood like any common Joe… it was somewhat of a spectacle to someone like Alfred, who took interest in anything so contrasting, as an artist. Alfred couldn't take his eyes off of Arthur…. 60 feet apart, with a deck that stretched like a valley between them, yet Alfred couldn't help but see and absorb every detail about Arthur; He was like some figure in a romantic novel, sad and isolated.

Alfred watched as Arthur unpinned his bowler hat from his head and fidget with it loosely in his hands. His sandy blond hair was whipped around by the wind, with a healthy lightness to it that shimmered like golden thread in the afternoon sunlight. Arthur stared at the hat not a moment more, before tossing it over the railing where it sailed far down to the water and was carried away, astern. He seemed to gain a bodily sense of relief from the action…. It bewildered Alfred. Such small actions, such subtle gestures, that somehow were telling some sort of story. Every budge Arthur made was a word, every motion was a call for something, for delight, for help… It was captivating for the young artist to watch.

Lovino noticed Alfred's preoccupation with Arthur . He snickered, gesturing for Antonio to look. They smiled at each other, chuckling under their breath. It was then Arthur turned suddenly, green eyes locking onto Alfred. The blue eyed blond was caught staring, yet he didn't look away, not even for a moment. Arthur watched him, analyzing, before feeling the discomfort and awkwardness of the situation and turned away, rubbing his sleeved arms in cold. Yet for some reason, within seconds, he looked back again… the whole scene playing over. Their eyes met and were frozen on each other, as if it was more than staring between the space of the decks, but of the gulf between worlds. It barely felt unnatural…, it was like an esteemed and unhealthy curiosity that left them both perplexed and unable to look away….  
Soon, Francis was there, quickly putting a coat over Arthur's shoulders, who in turn jerked away from under the warm gesture and they began arguing in what was nothing but pantomime to Alfred from his distance away. He watched as Arthur stormed back inside, Francis following slowly, overwhelmed… concerned.

Antonio snickered, stretching his arms over his head and making himself comfortable next to the bench. "That was muy intenso, mi amigo."

Alfred remained quiet, and quickly went back to drawing. He felt abashed. He didn't know why.

Arthur was re-established in his seat next to Francis, flanked by people in heated conversation. Roderiche and Elizabeta were laughing about something together, as Gilbert seemed to be encouraging Kiku to become more involved in the animated, inconsequential babble all around them. Francis soon too began laughing with them, making political jokes and remarks that always seemed to quickly draw in on Gilbert's good side. Arthur was seeing his whole life as he had already lived it…. An endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches…. Always the same narrow people, always the same mindless chatter. He felt like he was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull him back, no one who cared… or even noticed. Under the table, Arthur fiddled with a tiny fork from his crab salad. He poked it into the skin on his arm, harder and harder, until it drew blood….

Night soon fell. He was expected to do the entire ordeal over, another meal, another dinner. He was expected…, Roderiche and Francis had already left to do small talk and business beforehand but didn't push Arthur to come, not after his lunch display, and somehow, he just didn't think he could do it all over again. Every day, for the rest of his life.

He was mid step in the corridor to the dining area before he turned on his heel and began back to his room. A steward in passing greeted him. Arthur smiled, totally composed. He made it to his room, its empty silence greeting him no less passionately than the scolding he was sure to obtain from Roderiche later on for missing dinner. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at his reflection in the large dresser mirror. He just stood there… and then with a primal, anguished cry he clawed at his throat, popping the buttons on his dress shirt down to his stomach with one long tear, as the buttons bounced in random directions on the floor. In a heated frenzy, he continued to tear at himself, his clothes, his hair, as if no amount of contact to himself could quench his desperation. He proceeded to attack the room, flinging everything off the dresser in rage and cried as it flew clattering against the wall. His sobs were heavy and his breathing was cracked from the soreness in his lungs and stomach. He stared absently at the wall as he dropped to his knees, crying into the palms of his hands. His shoulders rose and fell in self loathe, in self suffering. "Don't blame me…," he sobbed, muffled in his hands. "…Don't blame me."

Before he knew it, he was sprinting along the B deck promenade. He was totally disheveled. He was still crying, his cheeks stained with tears, not caring about anything else through his anger, through his ferocity. His whole body shook with emotions as he ran, emotions he didn't understand- hatred, self-hatred, desperation….

Alfred was kicked back on one of the deck's benches, gazing at the stars blazing gloriously overhead, thinking artist thoughts. Hearing something, he turned as Arthur ran up the stairs of the well deck. The area was empty, other than their two souls. Arthur didn't see Alfred relaxing in the shadows, and sprinted past him without notice. Alfred quickly got to his feet, tracking Arthur as he ran to the deserted fantail, the Englishman's breath hitching in an occasional, suppressed sob. Arthur slammed himself against the base of the stern flagpole and clung there, panting under tearing eyes as the cool night air turned his heated breath into little puffs of fog in his face. He stared out over the blackness of the open water….

Suddenly, he began to climb over the railing, his body shaking in cold and hysterics. His fingers felt like ice against the metal rails, as he clumsily turned himself down onto the other side of the railing, back to, holding the metal bar firm within his grip as he positioned himself on the edge facing out towards the blackness…. He stared down 60 feet below him, as the massive propellers were churning the Atlantic into white foam, and a ghostly trail of it waked off into the distance. He leaned out, his arms straightening, looking down hypnotized into the vortex below him. There was no sound at all. Just the absolute silence of his breathing, and the rush of the cold ocean below…. No sound of life, and nobody to convince him otherwise.

"Don't do it."

Arthur whipped his head around at the sound of the voice. It took a second for his wet and blurry eyes to focus. "Stay back!" His hissed, panicked. "Don't come any closer! I mean it!"

Alfred stood there for a moment, noticing the tear streaks running down his face in the faint glow of the stern's running lights, and the redness of his eyes. He gently moved forward, slowly reaching a hand out, "shh… just take my hand. I'll pull you back over."

"No! Stay where you are, I'm serious," he warned, "I'll let go."

Alfed straightened up and returned his hands to his pockets. "No you won't."

Arthur was confused by the statement. He was trying to see Alfred better, but his eyes were still blurry and unfocused, and he moved to wipe them with the back of his hand, almost losing his balance. "What? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do, you don't know me!"

Alfred was tense, yet he flawlessly feigned unconcern. "You would have done it already if you were going to."

Arthur shook his head, "you're distracting me, go away!"

"I can't," Alfred shrugged, tapping his toe against the deck a couple of times, watching Arthur closely. "I'm involved now. If you let go," he sighed, taking his jacket off and kneeling down to untie his shoe, "then I'm just gonna have to just jump in there after you."

Arthur was totally bewildered. His whole body was starting to shiver. "Don't be absurd! You'll be killed!"

Alfred laughed quietly, "I'm a good swimmer."

"The fall alone would kill you."

"It will hurt a lot, I'm not going to lie." He moved to start untying his left shoe. "To be honest, I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold."

Arthur paused, looking down at the water, and then back at Alfred. He was starting to feel the temperature in his skin as his hysterics lessened. "…h-how cold?"

"Freezing. Maybe only a couple degrees over." Arthur stared down at the black waves. He seemed to be re-thinking, as his bottom lip began to quiver in attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. Alfred eyed him carefully for a moment, taking both his shoes off and placing them carefully to the side with his coat. "Uhh… ever been to Wisconsin?"

Arthur turned to look at Alfred again, completely perplexed. His fingers were growing numb on the railing. "What?"

"Well they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. Once when I was a kid, me and my father were ice-fishing out on Lake Wissota… uh, ice-fishing is when you chop a little hole in the-"

"I know what ice fishing is!" Arthur spat, glaring Alfred down.

Alfred took a deep breath, trying to take re-control of the situation. "Sorry, you just seemed like kind of an indoorsy sort of guy. Well anyway, I went through some thin ice and I'm telling you… water that cold… it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think…least not about anything but the pain." Arthur's brow furrowed and he looked back down at the water as Alfred straightened up. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you. I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the rail and lemme off the hook here."

Arthur's teeth chattered together and he turned his head again, staring at him. "…y-you're… crazy…."

"Well maybe," Alfred smiled, whispering quietly, "but with all due respect, sir, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship." Arthur stared, his eyes shifting between the railing, Alfred, and the water. His heart was pounding in his chest, he was realizing what he was doing. Alfred took another smooth step towards Arthur, as if approaching a spooked horse. "Come on, you don't want to do this. Give me your hand."

Arthur stared at the madman for a while, unsure which would be more insane: jumping or trusting this strange person with saving his life. At this point, everything was an internal battle of right and wrong, what felt good and what was appropriate…. Yet, in the situation he was in, staring at the blue of Alfred's eyes, they seemed to be the only piece of logic in his entire universe, and it filled him completely. His chest moved in and out, composing himself with a swallow knowing full well he no longer wanted to be on the side of he railing he was on anymore. "Alright." He slowly unfastened one hand from the railing and reached it toward Alfred.

Alfred took the cold hand firm in his grip. "I'm Alfred Jones."

"Arthur Kirkland…," Arthur mumbled in reply. Now that he decided he wanted to live, the height was terrifying. He was suddenly overcome by vertigo as he shifted his footing, turning the face the ship. As he started to climb, his shoelace became caught on the rail, and one foot slipped off the edge of the deck.

He plunged down, letting out a piercing shout. Alfred, gripping his hand, was jerked to the rail, as Arthur barely grabbed onto the lower rail with his free hand. "**Help! Help!**" He shouted, terror filling his face and cold voice.

"I've got you, Arthur, I won't let go!" Alfred replied, holding him up with all his strength and bracing himself on the railing with his other hand. Arthur tried to get a foothold on the smooth hull as Alfred tried to lift him bodily over the railing. Arthur couldn't seem to get his footing with the smooth underside of his shoes, and he plunged again with a terrified yell.

Alfred awkwardly began clutching for whatever part of Arthur he can get a grip of as the Englishman in turn tried to scramble his way back up again with his own strength, the two beginning to work together. Hanging onto nothing but Alfred's hand as he was dangled over the black, deadly nothingness below- if life didn't hold meaning for Arthur before, it was doing everything in its power to at least allow Alfred a chance to save him. Before a breath could be taken, Arthur was pulled over and they fell together on the deck in a loud, tangled heap of pants, exhausted.

Arthur's cries didn't go unheard, as the quartermaster sprinted across the docking bridge like it was a fire drill. He was on them in seconds, pulling Alfred off of Arthur and looking over the image. A distressed young man, the buttons torn all down his shirt to his chest, and what seemed to be grip marks on his wrists and neck. He was disheveled, with no coat or over shirt, yet the gold cufflinks of a noble. Then there was Alfred, a shaggy lower class man with shaking hands, standing over a nice jacket that was tossed aside. The quartermaster quickly began drawing his own conclusions, assuming this as an assault of a lower class man onto an upper class man. Robbery, brutality, any of the options were possible.

Suddenly, Arthur was holding his stomach, coughing hysterically from his lungs as blood spat from his mouth onto the deck. The quartermaster quickly kneeled next to him, pulling up Arthur's shirt to see the mark of the railing when it was pressed against his stomach. He stared over the railing- it would be easy to dump and assault weapon into the ocean.

Alfred stared at Arthur's coughing in horror, taking a step towards him to help in any way, but the quartermaster shot up. "You stay back! You stand still right where you are!" He shouted.

Alfred backed up, his hands in the air, continuing to watch Arthur as he coughed. "You need to get him to a doctor right now, he's clearly sick!"

Two other men were there quickly, pushing Alfred down to the ground, as Arthur's watched the scene in blurry vision, fading out. "Don't…" his voice barely a whisper, exhausted, almost unable to speak through his hoarseness. "…it wasn't him… I'm_ sick_." He coughed again, the world fading. "_…I'm sick_."

"Fetch the master of arms!"

* * *

**Note**: Woweee zowee. Look at the mess you've caused, Arthur. Well, there it is folks, chapter five will be up sooner than you think. I'm sorry this one took as long as it did, it was a long chapter. Again, your reviews and messages have been extremely inspirational and they make me incredibly happy and make me work faster. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. As it progresses, more of the missing pieces you're probably wondering about will indeed come into place, just sit tight and enjoy the ride. It's finally starting to wind down into the core. Stay tuned for chapter five and have a fantastic day!


	5. You Really See People

The handcuffs were latched around Alfred's wrists. He didn't struggle, he barely spoke up- rather he remained concerned, watching Arthur be fussed with by a few men as he slowly dipped in and out of consciousness.

Francis and Ivan were quickly there within moment's notice, informed by one of the assisting gentlemen. They seemed to had rushed, making their entrance on the scene with no coats to shelter their black tie evening wear. Francis was in a silent frenzy, with no words or sound to express his internal fear but the facial expressions to tell the whole story. He pushed the other men out of the way and was down on his knees at Arthur's side immediately, scooping the man into his arms and brushing a hand under Arthur's bangs to check for fever. He proceeded to inspect around Arthur's eyes and his pulse rate, going about the ordeal as if it was secondhand practice for him.

The display left Alfred with a million questions…. Who were these people, and this man to Arthur? Why was Arthur so sick, and what in this life pushed him to edge of the ocean? His blue eyes narrowed in a curious intensity, watching the 'affection,' for lack of a better word, melt over Francis and Arthur, as Francis began lightly slapping Arthur's cheek whispering, "Arthur, you're okay, wake up. Arthur, wake up, come on now…."

Soon Arthur stirred back into consciousness, rubbing his head and looking up at Francis in a daze. Francis smiled, with what Alfred could only imagine was relief. He felt the same way, seeing those eyes open back up…. There was no need for death now, not after that whole ordeal. Francis helped Arthur sit back up, and the Englishman was quickly being tended to by Ivan and the others, with a coat and blanket wrapped over his shoulders and an offering of some warm tea from a hot flask.

Without warning, Francis was to his feet and in front of Alfred, grabbing him and shaking him by the lapels. "What made you think you could put your hands on a sick man?!" His face was fuming with rage, yet Alfred continued to watch Arthur without consequence. This struck Francis like a cold ice pick to his raging fury, only creating hot steam. "Look at me when I told you, you filth! Tell me what you thought you were going to get away with, huh!?"

"Francis, enough!" The voice of Arthur chimed through, weakly, but noticeable now. He was glaring daggers at Francis for the man to calm his fury, and Francis merely returned the hateful look. "It was an accident."

Alfred smiled subtly.

"An accident?! An accident, you say, how cou-"

"I was leaning over the railing… really far to see the uh… uh… um…,"

"The propellers," Alfred added.

Arthur nodded immediately, "y-yes! The propellers. Uh… but I uh, much to my embarrassment, slipped, and I would have gone over board!" Francis let go of Alfred, listening to the explanation with earnest yet disbelief. "If Mr. Jones here hadn't been present, that is. He saw me and saved me… and almost went over himself. That's why we were such a mess."

The gentlemen all present were stunned into silence by the simplicity of such a misleading situation. They looked Arthur over, then Alfred, then Francis who ran a stressed hand through his bangs. "He uh…," Francis began with a nervous laugh, "just wanted to see the propellers! Bien sur!" He laughed out loud, the rest of the rescue team joining in with amusement as Arthur sat, his face growing red and temper growing thin like a bothered cat. He gave Alfred a cold look, mouthing 'propellers. Really?' Alfred shrugged.

The master of arms turned to Alfred, their eyes battling for the truth. "Well, son, was that the way of it?"

Alfred could see Arthur silently pleading for discretion with his eyes, and Alfred didn't falter. "Yup. That was pretty much it."

The master of arms stared Alfred down a bit longer, but eventually smiled wide and threw his arms in defeat, accepting the tale as was. "Well, in that case, the lad's a real hero! Good for you, son, well done! So it's all well and back to our brandy, eh?" Alfred was uncuffed and he rubbed his wrists dismissively as the cold metal left them. He sighed, shoving his hands back in his pockets as Francis got Arthur to his feet and moving. Yet before they could exist the scene, the master of arms was quickly at their heels. "Ah…, perhaps a little something for the boy?" he whispered, rubbing his fingers together to gesture reward.

"Oh, yes," Francis replied. "Ivan, give him some cash. A twenty will do."

Arthur stopped, appalled. "Is that the going rate for my life?"

Francis paused, biting his lip. A heartstring was clearly tugged, and Alfred noticed in the anxious lines on the Frenchman's face. The whole thing was completely entertaining in its own way…. Yet the American boy stood upright as Francis turned and re-addressed him. "Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?"

Alfred didn't know what to answer, in all honesty. He stood, rather dumbfounded by the notion of a first class meal, as well as a 'retelling' of a story that never truly occurred…. His eyes flicked to Arthur again, just for a moment, and Arthur in turn nodded from under his jacket. Alfred smiled. "Sure, count me in."

"Merveilleux," Francis smiled, turning back and leading Arthur inside with an arm over the Britishman's shoulder. Nobody seemed to question the odd display of affection… it only seemed to strike Alfred as iffy.

Ultimately, Alfred was relieved. He let out a long sigh, the entire crisis seemingly diverted with ease. As Ivan passed to follow the crowd, Alfred tapped his shoulder, "can I bum a smoke?"

Ivan smoothly drew a silver cigarette case from his jacket and snapped it open. Alfred took one, then another, popping it behind his ear for later. Ivan continued to light Alfred's cigarette, but his disposition remained somewhat cold and stoic, despite the charming smile he was sporting towards 'the hero.' Finally, he spoke… as few words as he ever did seem to speak. "Interesting that the young master slipped so mighty all of a sudden and you still had time to take off your jacket and shoes, hm?" He popped the cigarette case back in his coat pocket and returned inside.  
Alfred remained still on the decks, unable to shake the chill that was beginning to fester….

Arthur was a rather frigid mess that night. While Alfred felt relief, Arthur could feel his body shaking in his clothes, and made short work in undressing for bed. Although a custom for sleeping in some sort of nightwear, he didn't make any strong point to get re-dressed… rather simply covered himself in a sheet and moved into bed with a shiver. He turned out the light.

It wasn't long, however, that his door was being knocked upon, and Arthur wriggled himself further in the sheet. Francis let himself in, turning on a small desk lamp next to the bed. He moved and sat down near Arthur, touching the Englishman's foot under the sheet gingerly, which in turn curled in retreat of the contact. Francis let out a deep breathe. "Arthur…I know you've seemed melancholy, and I don't pretend to know why." Arthur didn't stir. Francis continued to pet the other man's foot through the sheet, making gentle and comforting circles. With little response, he soon pulled something from his pocket and shifted it in his hands; a large, black velvet jewel case. "I have a gift for you. I was planning on saving it until we got to America, but I thought perhaps, tonight, a reminder of my feelings for you…."

Arthur shifted slightly, peeking out from under his nest. Francis smiled at the little rabbit-like shyness, and removed the prize from within the velvet box. Inside was the necklace… 'The Heart of the Ocean' in all its glory. It was a huge, malevolent blue stone glittering with an infinity of scalpel-like inner reflections. Arthur suddenly shot up in bed, staring at the rock with a feeling of overwhelm. It took Francis by surprise, more so that Arthur was nude than by the sudden thrust of movement. "Francis… My God… is that-"

"A diamond. Yes. 56 carats." Francis took the necklace and gently hooked it around Arthur's slender throat. They stared at each other, as Arthur reached up to glide his fingers along the jewelry. Francis smiled, "It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth. They call it Le Coeur de le Mer, the-"

"The Heart of the Ocean." Arthur bit his lip, staring down at the bed, still gently touching and feeling the fine details of the necklace around his neck. He was overwhelmed.

Francis let out a soft, warm chuckle and brushed a strand of hair behind Arthur's ear delicately. "It's made for royalty, and we are royalty, Arthur. You and I…." His fingers moved, and he brushed his knuckles tenderly along Arthur's jaw and down his thin neck. He was unguarded by his attraction, and Arthur watched Francis' hand with a rising and falling chest. There was an moment of endearment they shared, expressed through gentle contact and touches… The Frenchman moved forward, gently pushing Arthur down into the bed with himself on top, and lacing the Englishman into a soft kiss, followed by another, and another. Soon, they were writhing against each other through the sheet, there hearts pounding. The room fell into a quiet mix of heat and muffled pants, but the passionate silence rang loudly in Arthur's ears like an alarm. He pushed Francis away, covering his eyes with his arm and gritting his teeth. Francis learned over him, his face warm, out of breath, eyes heavy. "What is it?"

"I can't…."

Francis seemed dumbstruck. He touched Arthur's forehead. "Do you feel sick again?"

"No, I just can't," Arthur replied. Yet he didn't ask Francis to move, nor did he struggle…. There was a sense of urgency Francis could sense, but it was as if Arthur was afraid to retaliate in fear of instigating violence.

The Frenchman's blue eyes grew soft, and he moved Arthur's arm from his face. "When we get to America, I will make you healthy, and we can start our life together. Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that what we planned? I will buy us a big manor…, love can thrive in secrecy."

"That's not what I'm thinking about, just-…," he closed his eyes, coughing.

Francis immediately took Arthur into a tight embrace. Was he really losing Arthur's love already? "Arthur, there's nothing I couldn't give you. There's nothing I would deny you if you would deny me. Open your heart to me, Arthur…."

The necklace weighed heavy around Arthur's throat.

It was Saturday, April 13th, 1912. Arthur was dressed and well, and he began his day unlatching the gate to the third class decks. Compared to the upper class, it was a loud and boisterous place. There were mothers with babies, kids running between the benches and yelling in several languages and being scolded in many more. Old women were yelling, men were playing chess, girls doing needlepoint and reading dime novels…. Three boys were shrieking and shouting, scrambling to chase a rat under the benches with a shoe trying to smack it. All these things were a familiar yet foreign world to Arthur…. He seemed quite taken to it as he progressed, searching out his main target.

Lovino and Antonio were growing more and more acquainted with one another. They were struggling with their connections between Italian and Spanish, either boasting or arguing about the minor differences or traditions. However, Antonio's eye quickly caught sight of Arthur, a nobleman among peasants, a sunflower among lilies. Tall and beautiful, but short lived…. It was a central attraction, as he fussed over to Alfred who was making comical sketches with the little Lili to entertain himself.

Antonio bumped his shoulder, getting his attention. He looked up… green met blue again, the line of sight filling the entire vibrancy of the Atlantic around them. A hush fell, and Arthur suddenly felt self conscious as some of the other passengers stared openly at this prince, some with resentment, others with awe. He swallowed his abashment and walked right to Alfred, who in turn quickly stood up in address. "Hello, Mr. Jones." Lovino and Antonio remained floored. It was like beauty and the beast.

"Hello again."

"Could I speak to you in private?"

"Of course," Alfred smiled, motion Arthur forward so he could follow.

They walked side by side, passing people reading and talking and steamer chairs, some whom glanced curiously at the mismatched couple. Alfred too began feeling self conscious, being out of place as Arthur was before now that he was on the upper deck. They both shared their anxious awkwardness with a nervous chuckle. Finally, Arthur began, "Mr. Jones, I-"

"Alfred."

"Alfred… I feel like a complete fool. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you."

"Well here you are." Alfred laughed.

"Here I am. I…. I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for-… for pulling me back, but also for your discretion." Arthur fiddled with his cufflinks nervously.

"You're welcome, Arthur."

"Look, I know what you're thinking." He stopped, Alfred stopping a few feet ahead and turning back to see him. "Poor, foolish, rich man…. What does he know about misery?"

Alfred put his hands in his pockets and stared at Arthur long and hard. He breathed deep. "Nope. Not what I was thinking at all. What I'm thinking is what could have possibly happened to this man that hurt him so much he thought he had no other way out?"

Arthur bit his bottom lip and walked over to the railing, leaning over it and looking out to the ocean. "It wasn't just… one thing. It was everything. It was them, it was just their whole world, and I was trapped in it like an insect in amber." Arthur suddenly began rushing, clasping his hands tight within his tense energy. "I just had to get away! Just run and run and run… and then I was at the back rail and there was no more ship. Even the Titanic wasn't big enough. Not enough to get away from them, and before I'd really thought about it, I was over the rail. I was so furious, thinking that I'll show them! They'll be sorry!"

Alfred guffawed. "Uh huh! They'll be sorry, 'course you'll be dead."

Arthur lowered his head with a long groan. "…Uuuhn, you must think I am a total fool…."

"That penguin last night," Alfred began with a small smirk, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, "is he one of them?"

"Penguin? Oh! Francis…," Arthur grimaced, leaning more onto the rail. "He is them… in a sense."

"What's a guy like that do?" Alfred took his turn, leaning against the railing next to Arthur, his back to the ocean as he stared into the emerald of Arthur's eyes.

Arthur simply rolled them, thinking about how to word his response. "Well uh," Arthur began, awkwardly fiddling his fingers, "he is brilliant in business and the arts and uh… local societies in Northern America and Europe and such so he gets by with his dues."

"Uh huh."

Arthur grew nervous. "Yes… quite. That is… about it really."

"So these 'societies,' are they why you're going to the states?"

"No, not really."

"You are a really uncomfortable talker."

"Excuse me?"

Alfred laughed, running a hand through his hair and looking across the decks. "You're not hard to read. It's obvious when you're not telling the whole truth. Why lie to me?"

Arthur flushed through his ears in abashment and stood up straight, "why, I'd say I barely know you now do I, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred continued laughing, "aw, what, a last name basis? Two steps back, not a step forward, huh? Look," he shrugged his shoulders, "I've got nothing' against you, but last night wasn't the prettiest for me either, y'know? I pulled a man over the back end of a ship and watched him cough up half a lung of blood onto a clean deck. No thanks are necessary, but I will admit that I'm an awfully curious and nosy person sometimes." Alfred caught himself, thinking through his last statement to ensure honesty. "Most of the time."

Arthur stared hard at Alfred. The sincerity goated his own honesty. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing his dimples with his hands and leaning back over the railing. He couldn't believe he was about to admit it but, "Francis and I… are pursuing a life together." His voice was small and distant. It carried over the waves.

Alfred stood silent for a moment. "…Eheh… what?"

"We're uh…," Arthur began again, his voice growing quieter and quieter with every word he spoke, "…starting a life with each other in the states…."  
Alfred thought for a second. "Like a business partnership or somethin'?"

"Well that's what we'd like everyone to believe isn't it?"  
Al  
fred didn't know what to think. "So like… you two… are like this?" He asked, crossing his fingers. "Like that, but like… but like this, too?" He started wiggling his fingers together, snickering to himself.

Arthur socked Alfred in the shoulder, "Oi! I get bloody enough about it!"

"I didn't even know that was a thing!" He shoved his hands back in his pockets, grinning ear to ear in amusement at Arthur's distress. "Don't be like that, I'm not judging' you, I'm just teasing." Arthur groaned, pouting and staring blankly off into the distance under visible distress. Alfred let out a loose chuckle here and there. "Look, I've been all over. I've seen my share of strange things, trust me. That ain't that strange to me, I was expecting to hear you and him were black marketers or something." Arthur didn't respond. Alfred smiled, watching the defensiveness melt away as quickly as it came. "If I loved someone, I would be less defensive of myself and more defensive of them." Arthur remained quiet, directing his eyes further from Alfred's. Alfred's eyes furrowed, a tinge of sympathy. "… so that's it. Why're you with him?"

"A man like me…, it's either go with Francis or die in the gutter because of this… this thing inside me." Arthur touched his own chest gingerly. "I can't afford my life, but he can… so…,"

"So he's your ticket to beating whatever nasty illness that is."

"Don't say it like that, it's not that repulsive." Arthur huffed, glancing to Alfred. "I'm not using Francis…, I love him, I truly do, and what he's doing for me, I can't ever repay for. He is well off, and he's willing to make it so I am too. He cares about me that much, that's more than I could ever ask. We've had some wonderful memories together, he's not just a means to survive."

Alfred nodded. "Can two fellas have a life in the states?"

"I don't know. Probably no more so than two 'fellas' in Europe. I don't mind a life of secrecy though, I'm used to it. We can't ever wed but… he gave me this," Arthur started, pulling a sizeable diamond ring from his coat pocket.

Alfred's eyes shot wide. "Woah! Look at that thing! You would have gone straight to the bottom!" They both laughed as Arthur put it back in his pocket. Alfred let out a few more soft, childish chuckles, cocking his head at Arthur. "So regardless of how nice it all is, because of everything this guy has done you feel like you're stuck on a train you can't get off."

"Yes, exactly."

"Then just don't be with him."

Arthur looked at Alfred with disbelief. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is."

"Oh, Alfred…, please don't judge me until you've seen my world."

"Haven't judged you far, have I? Besides, I'm going to be getting a look at that world tonight I suppose. That fancy dinner and all." Arthur didn't respond. "Do you love him?"

Arthur blanched, "Excuse me?"

"Do you love him?"

"Why the hell would you be… asking me that?"

"It's a simple enough question." Alfred smiled.

"It's not very appropriate!" Arthur looked around for something- anything to change the conversation over. He quickly grabbed Alfred's sketchbook from under his arm, "what is this silly, little book you carry around with you?" He marched off with the book and sat down, flipping through it, slowing down as he continued. "These are… these are quote good…"

"Just some sketches. Didn't think much of them is Paris." Alfred followed nonchalantly.

Arthur sat stunned, skipping through the images as Alfred sat next to him. Each sketch was something sentimental about humanity… an elderly woman's hands, a sleeping man, a brother and sister soaring over the ocean against the ship's rail. All the faces were luminous and alive. Suddenly, some loose sketches fell out and both men darted to grab them, Alfred only managing to snatch a couple in the air, but the rest flew away over the rail.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! I truly am!"

Alfred snickered. "Well… like I said, didn't think too much of them in Paris. I just sort of spew them out. Besides, they aren't worth a damn." To make a point, Alfred threw the two pages in his hand over the rail with a snap of his wrist.

Arthur watched in shock and amusement. "You're deranged!" He laughed, turning back to the pages in the book as Alfred rejoined him. It was then he stumbled upon some unfinished sketches of nudes. He became transfixed by the languid beauty. The nudes were soulful and real, with expressive hands and eyes. They were almost uncomfortably intimate…. "Are these drawn from real life?"

"Yup. That's the great thing about Paris. Lots of girls willing to take their clothes off."

Arthur began studying one picture in particular. A woman posed half in sunlight, half in shadow. Her hand lied at her chin, open like a petite flower, languid and graceful. "You liked this woman. You used her several times."

"Yeah…, she had beautiful hands."

"I think you must have had a love affair with her," Arthur replied coyly.

"No no!" Alfred laughed, "just with her hands. They always seemed so relaxed, even if she herself wasn't."

Arthur closed the book and stared long at Alfred before murmuring, "…Alfred, you see people, you really do."

Alfred smiled, "I see you."

"…and?"

"You wouldn'ta jumped."

* * *

**I apologize for this update taking so long, I sincerely do. Please forgive me!**  
Here's the deal, I started writing this fanfiction in the summer, but I am almost at the end of college's first semester so I've been super busy with my education, as well as a web series I'm working on that is due to be showing at the end of January. Between that and some other life related things, I just haven't had time to write for the fun of it.  
But here is chapter 5, and to make things easier, I've already begun chapter 6. Hopefully there won't be another ridiculous lack of updates like that again. Thanks for baring with me, and I hope you enjoy!  
**P.S:** As always, your reviews are incredibly inspirational and every time I get one in my inbox, it encourages me to sit my butt down and keep writing. Thanks for the support. Don't hesitate to remind me!


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